Silver & Steel
by LOLRookie117
Summary: In the Northern Lands, monsters are commonplace. On the island, monsters are commonplace AND intelligent. In both lands, there are some that rise up against the monsters, some that fight back. None are more effective than these protectors. But what would happen if these two protectors were to meet?
1. The Witcher

_"I see you gather before me... hungry... terrified... Clutching your babes to your breast.  
Emperor Emhyr has marched his legions into our lands... Laid siege to every fortress from here to the Blue Mountains. Rabid and ravenous, he bites and bites away.  
Men of the north, you stand at the precipice! Your kings have failed you, so now you turn to the gods! And yet you do not plead? You do not kneel to dust your heads with ash? Instead you wail, "Why have the gods forsaken us?"  
We must look into the trials we failed long ago!_

 _In a time past, our world intertwined with another through an upheaval scholars call the Conjunction of the Spheres..._  
 _The gods allowed unholy forces to slip into our domain. The offspring of that cataclysm was the nefarious force called magic..._  
 _Yet we did not banish it, instead studying the vile arcane for our own power and wealth! And the monsters at our door... the unholy relics of this Conjunction?_

 _...the trolls..._

 _the corpse eaters..._

 _the werewolves?_

 _Did we raise our swords against them? Or have we laid this burden on others?_  
 _On so-called Witchers... Stray children taught the ways of foul sorcery, their bodies mutated through blasphemous ritual. Sent to fight monsters, yet they could not distinguish good from evil. The flicker of humanity long extinguished within them._

 _Yes, their numbers have dwindled throughout the years. But still few roam our lands, offering their bloody work for coin. To this day they shame us with their very existence!_  
 _The north bleeds, flogged by war! The battles are the gods' whip, chastisement for our sins!_  
 _And let us not forget the terrors, the scourges from beyond our world! The Wild Hunt rides the skies with every full moon! The dark raiders abduct our children into lands unknown! Some say they herald a second Conjunction!_

 _Can we chart a course back into the light? Will we find the strength to banish the mages from our kingdoms? Unite around the warmth of the Eternal Fire?_

 _Nigh is the Time of the Sword and Axe!_

 _None will fight this war in our stead!_

 _Nigh is the Time of Madness and Disdain_ _!"_

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1: The Witcher_**

* * *

Darkness falls upon the land of the North, and along with the sun, all the noblemen, farmers, and peasants return from whence they came and succumb to the hours of toil they suffered throughout the day, and fall into a deep slumber. Everything in the land was at peace... or, at least, that's how it seemed. You see, when the sun rests and the moon graces the land with its sleep-inducing presence, not all succumb as easily to its call, and there are some that claim this time as their day. The moon becomes their sun, and they go about their own toil, working in their own way. These people can be anything from guards to artists, thieves or ne'er-do-wells, or monsters from the darkest pits of Hell itself. But among all these nocturnal and diurnal creatures was a man, a man who classified as both.

He was nocturnal as well as diurnal, man as well as beast. The people of this land refer to men like this as "Witchers." Mutated humans gifted unnatural abilities and superhuman senses via a ritual long forgotten. The people fear these beings, and treat them as subhuman, worse than the monsters these witchers fight. Still, humans will be humans, and all humans suffer from the easily-contracted disease of hypocrisy, and call on witchers to do their dirty work to this day. For in a world plagued with monsters, would stands a better chance? A human, or another monster?

The man opens his eyes, revealing his golden, cat-like pupils to the air around him. The air grants him a breeze which blows his tangled locks of white hair free from his shoulders where they once sat. The air also gifts to the man a special scent. It smelled to him of perfume, expensive and delicious, mixed with a hint of human blood. The source of the scent walked with soft steps forward towards the witcher, stopping just beside a nearby tree.

 _A woman._

As the witcher's eyes meet with the slender body of the woman before him, the breeze that once felt as though it would last as long as the night would dies down, giving way to naught but the deceivingly peaceful silence of the night. As suddenly as it arrived, the silence was broken by the woman, her voice as fair and as beautiful as her visage led the witcher to believe. "You must be the witcher I'd heard so much about," see began, "it seems your name was not as deceiving as one would think... White Wolf." As she utters the title, her lips gain the irresistible urge to curl into a soft, comely smile. It was odd, something about that name just made her want to laugh, but she stopped herself just with a smile. The witcher, the one feared by man and beast alike, was amusing to her, or so it seemed.

"Something funny about that name?" The White Wolf asks, his face never shifting from its serious, emotionless expression it held since their conversation began.

"No, not at all... it's fitting for a man of such renown," she replies.

"Don't think I'm that famous yet. Kings and holy knights are renowned and respected, but they're respected out of love. Me, I'm a Witcher, arguably one of the most respected one out there, but most respect me out of fear of my... abilities."

"I cannot argue. The names White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, Ravix of Fourhorn, Geralt of Rivia, all are respected... and feared. But, most only see the monstrous side of you, Master Witcher..." the woman begins to take small steps forwards, and with each passing inch closed between them, a button of her dress in undone. "...there are very few who have seen your tender side," another inch, another button, "your kinder side," yet another button, "your... romantic side." As the final button of her blouse is undone, and the woman stands above the witcher, looking down at his old, battle-worn and scarred face, her smile extends from ear to ear until it formed a monstrous grin. The once beautiful face of the maiden was now deformed, grotesque, and vampiric. She leans down swiftly to the witcher's neck and slowly, she sinks her long fanged teeth into his veins.

 _The blood of a witcher... so delicious, so irresistibly tantalising. Truly a worthy last meal..._

 ***Shink! Chisssssshh!***

A blade, runed, made of pure steel found itself inside the chest of the woman whose teeth were still sunk into the witcher's neck. As blood gushes from the wound, the woman's teeth retract from the vein she sucked on. As her fangs are exposed to the open air, the blood that dripped from her teeth begins to steam. The blood was black, like the night around them. She gasps, the pain paralyzing her body. Then, something soothing. A hand, muscular yet soft, helps her to lay peacefully on the ground. The silver blade is sheathed, and now all that the woman saw were those golden eyes. "Witcher..." she weakly raises a hand to his cheek. "Tell me... tell me, was my death ordered by my sister...? Please, as my last request, you must tell me... was it Udothi who ordered this?"

The witcher could only nod and say, "yes."

"Then... please, you must... you must kill her too. She is a danger... she killed Holdan." Geralt listened to the woman's words, though he did not seem surprised. "She killed my beloved... said she had to 'even the playing field.' Holdan... he... he was the only one who accepted me. Even when I told him what I was... even when he knew I was a Bruxa, he still loved me... accepted me, even offered me his blood... but when he died... when she killed him, I was left with nothing... I could not stay in the village, I needed food, so... I wandered, but... but that boy... in the field... tell me, will he rest in peace...?" The Witcher responds again with just a nod. "Good... now, please, make my sister pay... for Holdan." With a final nod from the witcher, the woman succumbs to her injuries and passes away. Geralt does the best he could do in the way of laying her peacefully on the ground before walking away, down to the village resting just past the hill, steely determination in his eye. The contract holder, that woman of slim build and similar features to that of her sister, she was a Bruxa. A type of vampire that desires only one thing: humans. Flesh, bone, blood, they don't discriminate. They'll rip and maim and eat without care... except for one. The one Geralt had killed. That one was no monster, not truly... and Geralt detests killing anything other than monsters. He'll get his reward, yes, but with it, he'll take Udothi's head too.

The witcher arrives at the village in a time of crisis. The cries of the people gave Geralt all the information he needed to hear. Udothi was gone, and he took Clef, the chief's son with her. Shaking his head, Geralt approached the village stables and mounted his horse swiftly before giving it a quick kick to get him going. "Come on, roach!" He shouts before the horse takes off in the direction Udothi went in - it was rather easy to pinpoint, actually. Just follow the hoof prints and childlike screaming. Geralt chases after the fleeing Bruxa at top speed, not sparing Roach, the poor thing. The chase was long and arduous, and ends as most roads do, at a dead end. This dead end, however, led not to the death of the final Bruxa, no, it instead led to a cave which Udothi promptly took shelter in. Geralt was still hot on her tail, though, and made his way down into the dark grotto. The further he walked into this cave, the more his medallion vibrated and tugged on his neck.

"Place of power...?" Geralt thought aloud as he used his hand to calm his medallion down. As soon as he did so, however, he heard a blood-curdling scream coming from deeper into the cave. He ran, hoping that the boy was unharmed, however unfortunately unlikely that may be. Geralt ran past stairs, altars, and odd statues depicting two identical women standing back-to-back. He ran until he had nowhere else to run, until he ran into nothing but a cobblestone wall at the end of a long hallway. "Damn," Geralt cursed under his breath as he turns quickly to search for another way to go, but something caught his attention. It was another loud scream, one that clearly came from behind the wall Geralt had run into. He approaches it again, his interest peaked. As he touches the wall a second time, his wolf-headed medallion shakes rapidly. "An illusion," He thinks aloud. "Got just the thing for you." Geralt steps back and draws forth two things from his being - the first, his silver sword, still covered in blood from the other Bruxa, and a circular device of magical origin; Nehaleni's Eye. He holds the eye up to the wall, and in an instant, the illusion fades, exposing the shocking scene that hid behind it.

There were bodies, many of them, all piled atop one another in a mass grave of sorts in the corner of the room. In the other corner was a fresher body, the newest of them all. It was Clef, Geralt didn't even need to examine the body to know that. "What kind of twisted experiment was she conducting?" He thought aloud, once again. This... 'lab' he was walking around in was... brutal, to say the least. Cleaners, hooks, vials of blood, brains in jars... all centered around a pentagram in the center of the room, made completely of human innards. "Disgusting." Geralt does his best not to breathe from his nose; the smell was awful, even for someone who's gotten up close and personal with a Zeugl. As Geralt walks across the room, his medallion vibrates suddenly, just in the middle of the pentagram. Before him, a mirror roared with immense magic power, on par with that of one of the portals Avalla'ch took Geralt through on his search for Ciri. As he stares at the phenomenon, he can't help but notice a slight pain in his side. He looks down in curiosity, only to see blood falling from a gash that had not been there before. Suddenly, a laugh came from ahead. In front of Geralt, the Bruxa stoop with the head of Clef in her hand. "...50 bodies worth of human blood, the blood of a child, the blood of a cursed being, and..." she smiles deviously, "the blood of a witcher."  
"What did you do?" Geralt asked aggressively.

"I just completed a pet project of mine, Master Witcher." Her voice was devilish and accented, though not as beautifully as her sister's. Truly this Bruxa was the lesser of the two, at least in terms of beauty. "And now that my mirror is complete, I shall finally be released from this dull, dull world, and my full power will be restored."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Geralt steps forward aggressively, but the Bruxa did not move.

"Oh poor, naive Geralt... you have no idea what I am, do you? Not truly," Udothi chuckles like she had just been asked the dumbest question she'd ever heard. "No doubt my sister has told you that we were Bruxa, yes? That I was so selfish and bloodthirsty that I killed her beloved? Hmph, such a foolish girl. No, no, witcher... there is no Holdan. He never existed."

"What do you mean?"

"It's true. You see, my sister and I used to be great warriors back home. We fought and killed monster after monster and never tired of it. But then, something happened. We found ourselves stranded in a foreign land, stripped of our rankings and powers. We bore nothing but the clothes on our backs, as well as the overwhelming hunger for blood. We had tried to go home ever since, but my sister suggested we adapt and succumb to our... disgusting urges. When I refused, she ran away, killing all who crossed her path. Her trail of murders was clear, and I could not have let this place be found by the humans... so, I had her killed. It is quite simple, really."

Geralt, after hearing her story, just stood there in disbelief. Was he lied to? Or, was he being lied to now? Her story seemed genuine, but then again, so did her sister's. He couldn't decide. He couldn't decide which was true or not.

"If you are no longer going to kill me, then I have much to do. Your payment is in my home back at the village, go there and take it. Now, if you excuse me, I really must be going..." with that, she turns to the portal. "Do not follow me," commanded the woman before stepping through the mirror and into what lies beyond.

Geralt still stood, attempting to process what just happened. "Not a Bruxa...? If she's not a Bruxa, then she's gotta be something else. Higher vampire, maybe?" He thinks and thinks, only to be interrupted by his medallion. It was vibrating less and less by the second. The portal was closing, and the Bruxa was just about to get away. It was here Geralt was faced with a choice... enter the portal and hunt down Udothi, or collect his reward, then move on, like a witcher should do? When it comes down to it, Geralt doesn't fight for the good of others. Sure, he could justify his actions that way... but nothing he could say could ever hide that fact. The fact that witchers are simply monsters who fight other monsters, only working for the promise of gold.

Geralt turns around and looks out at the dark tunnels behind him. It was a long way back, but his money was waiting for him, and so was Roach, and the rest of his world. All that he cared for and loved... but witchers are emotionless, right? They can't love, right? They care for no one but themselves, right?

No, witchers are heroes.

Witchers fight for gold, yes, but they also fight for one other thing... one other motive to their battle against the monsters of this realm. One simple thing.

Witchers fight to save lives. And not just the lives of their benefactor, though they certainly are a priority, no, they fight for the lives of all. Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, Hobbits, and all the little creatures that litter the land.

Witchers aren't monsters, they're the one thing keeping this world from falling apart.

And with that, he emerges from the cave, the mirror behind him as he is graced by the beauty of the morning sun, a familiar sun... but even so, this sun was all too foreign. As he looks down from his perch upon the mountain, Geralt spots a village, far down in the valley below. A perfect spot to start his search.

"Udothi. Be ready, because before the night is done, your head will be mine."


	2. The Claymore

_"The weak always cling to words, and those with power die for those without it."_

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Claymore**

* * *

In a distant land, in a foreign world, there exist parallels to the witchers of the North. Whereas the witchers evolved from kidnapped or orphaned boys mutated through magical concoctions that either created the feared superhumans of legend or ended the child's life in intense agony, the Warriors of this world were created from the implanting of the flesh of the bests most commonly fought against, the demonic and carnivorous Yoma. Feared and, in some cases, hated by the populace, these mutants fight against the Yoma and prove fierce adversaries to the beasts. There are, however, downsides to the mutations these women undergo. Deep inside their body, the urge to hunt and devour human flesh lies dormant, repressed only by sheer willpower. But like all pangs of hunger, nothing can leave it unsatiated for long, and, the more these warriors fight, the closer they get to becoming Yoma themselves. It is an inevitability, this "awakening." All good things must come to an end, as they say.

All good things must come to an end...

A rain of hot purple liquid with the consistency of blood spout from what remains of an arm, black and distorted, its veins bulging out to the surface of its skin. A howl of pain follows the landing of meat on the cold, cobblestone road beneath it. The creature, large as a bear and as black as night curses the warrior before him, the woman with the claymore.

"Arrgh! You bitch! That's my arm!"  
What would be an almost impossible feat for a normal woman, this one pulls off with ease. With one hand, she swings the heavy weapon at the beast once more, leaving a deep wound in the thing's chest. After another howl, the beast strikes back, its elongated claws threatening to cleave the woman in half. Unfortunately for him, she had other plans in mind. She leaps to the side at blinding speed just before the clawed hand slams its imprint into the rocky ground. Then, in another display of strength, the woman severs the monster's hand from its arm with one quick swing.

"Damn you!" The beast swears, "silver-eyed witch, I'll eat you alive!"

Quickly, the beast would snap its large jaw at the woman, but alas, she dodges his attack once again. The claymore nearly chops off the creature's disgusting head but is surprisingly interrupted by a thick layer of armor on the back of its neck as tough as steel. The monster laughs and, as the woman is stunned by her inability to finish the monster off, it bites again at her, this time sinking its teeth into her slim yet muscular leg. She screams out in pain as her skin is torn and contorted, the meat making an unheavenly squishing sound akin to the swishing of water in a mouth. Red blood pools up with the purple on the ground, forming a thick mixture of dark magenta. In the reflection of the bloody concoction, yellow snake-like eyes light up the light-trapping liquid, eventually leading way to an explosion of pent-up rage and pain. A single swing was all it took to cleanly decapitate the monster teething on the woman's leg, causing the life to be extinguished from its identical snake eyes. Its body lays flat, dead, and the woman stands, alive, but far from in one piece. Her leg was mangled beyond belief, the limb rendered completely useless by the monster's bite. The woman, pale blond and fair-skinned leans on her blade, reeling in intense pain as her now silver eyes look over the corpse before her.

 _It's dead._.. _finally_ , she thought as her teeth clench tightly, threatening to shatter from the pressure she put on them. _Just_ _fight it... fight the pain, and just concentrate on breathing..._

"Clare!"

The voice of a young boy calls out to the pained woman, his small footsteps hurrying as he quickly leaps to the examination of the woman's torn leg.  
"Clare, are you alright? Your leg... does it hurt?"

The silver-eyed woman looks down at the boy, her concentration shifting from the wound to the caring voice of the boy kneeling down next to her. "Raki..." She begins in a pained voice, "I'm fine... don't worry about me."

"Clare, your leg's all torn up!" The boy shouts protectively, "you can't walk like this! You must be in so much pain, too!"

"Raki, I-" before she could finish her sentence, the boy had already wrung her arm around his shoulders. "You can lean on me, Clare. Until we get back to camp."  
She couldn't even formulate a response before he began escorting her out of the small town they were in and all the way into the woods, at a recently used campfire. The light of the morning sun shined brilliantly through the forest, lighting up the small clearing perfectly. Raki sits Clare down against a tree, then rushes off to rinse the wound with water from a nearby stream. Unnecessary as it was, Clare found it hard to reject. Raki's care for her was... refreshing, to say the least. It's times like these that remind her of why she took Raki on with her in the first place. It all started out with the boy losing the only family he had left to the Yoma, then, for fear of him being a Yoma as well, they banished him, cast him away into the wastelands to die. Truly a terrible fate that she saved him from...

"Clare! Hold your foot out for me," Raki says, interrupting Clare's reminiscing. He carefully props the bloody leg up on his lap before getting to work on cleaning and disinfecting the wound. Clare's teeth clench tightly together as the cold water stings her foot like a viper. The blood got everywhere, into the ground, Raki's pants, even his undergarments, but Raki didn't care. As long as Clare was safe, he'd endure any hardship he came across. He was a determined boy, with a caring heart. Clare loved that about him. To take her mind off the pain, she did nothing but fill her thoughts with Raki. Peaceful, calm thoughts of him growing, getting better and better at fighting, at protecting people - like he wants to. She lets the image of a matured Raki enter her mind, his strong physique, his expert blade skills, his unmatched will, his kind and thoughtful attitude, lacking its current naivety, and his face... why can't she pinpoint his face? His eyes, filled with determination... it's hard to forget those, though she can't make out their appearance years later. She can imagine his hair, perhaps a bit messier than now, but still as energetic as usual. The only thing left of note to her would be his lips... soft, prominent, never lacking a smile, always conveying the boy's seemingly unlimited will to stay alive, and to protect the one he loved. To protect Clare.

A sudden jolt of pain pulls Clare abruptly from her daydream and back into the present. "Sorry! My bad! Are you alright?" Raki asks, looking up at Clare with eyes filled to the brim with remorse. She swears he would have cried had she not assured him that she was fine and that he did no harm. It took a while to assure him of this, however. Ah, the young heart, tender and fragile as always. "You... your foot should be clean now, Clare, but I doubt you're gonna be able to walk anytime soon. You should just get some rest for now." Solid advice, as always. There was no way she could move her leg in this condition, that was clear. Clare nods in agreement before allowing Raki to place a clean blanket to rest her foot on. "Right," He continues, "we're almost out of food, so I think I should head to the market with what gold we have. First, though, I'm gonna put on a new pair of clothes, and wash the blood out of these." He smiles that reassuring smile of his and makes his way down to the stream again to wash up.

The boy changed his britches from his blood-soaked pair to a new, clean pair. He then soaks the former in water, making sure to scrub it clean of blood before setting it under the sun to dry. Before heading to town, he checks in with Clare once more to wish her farewell until he returns from the market.

The marketplace was brimming with people today. It made sense, as it was fall, and winter was only a stone's throw away. If it was going anything like Raki's last time in the snow, it certainly won't be pretty, not with his luck.

"There sure is a lot of fish," Raki notes to himself as he feels the fresh salmon in his hand, its skin all slimy and scaly, as to be expected from an ocean-dwelling creature such as this. Unfortunately, all that slime caused the fish to be slippery to the touch, and it fell right out of the boy's grasp.

Before he could pick it up, however, someone beat him to it. Looking up at them, Raki could see that it was a man of relatively old age, probably in his late seventies or so, judging from the gray in his beard and wrinkles. Granted, Raki couldn't see all that much, as the majority of the man's body was covered by a brown cloak.

"Gotta be more careful, kid." The man says as he hands the fish back to the boy. In response, Raki nods and mutters, "o-okay. Thank you."

"Don't mention it, just try to keep a firmer grip from now on," the man says back to him before turning to walk away. Before he does, though, something compels him to turn back around and face the kid again. "Wouldn't have happened to have seen a woman around here, right? Middle-aged, with raven hair?"

"No... I can't say I have, why? Is she a friend of yours?" Raki asked.

"She's a dangerous woman, definitely not a friend," responded the man. "If you spot anyone who looks like that, stay as far away as possible, and be sure to tell me. I'll be staying in town for a while, at the Inn. If you see her or hear of her, you can find me there."

And with that, he walks away, not even giving the boy the chance to ask who he is, who this woman is, or even why she's so dangerous. Raki stands there for a moment, still trying to process what just happened.

"Well, that was... weird," He says to himself before turning and walking in the opposite direction, deciding to put that behind him and just continue shopping.

"Weird... really weird."

* * *

 ** _5 minutes later_**

* * *

Raki had successfully filled his pack to the brim with cooking ingredients for Claire, and with a smile on his face, he turns a corner, eager to return to Clare with all the goodies he'd gathered for her, but in turning, he accidentally found himself with a face full of fabric, followed by a splashing sound and a crashing sound, as well as an "oof!"

Looking towards the source of the sounds, Raki finds himself in the middle of a bit of an accident. It seemed that he had bumped into a woman and spilled her bucket of water all over her, and she did not seem too happy about that.

"Oh, look what you did!" The raven-haired woman says, looking down at her waterlogged dress. "This was a brand new dress! How am I ever going to pay to have this off?!"

Suddenly, she glares at Raki with anger. "You!" She shouts, her weathered cheeks puffing out with each word. "Do you have any idea how much this costs? This is silk, genuine silk! This costs more than your life, boy! I swear you're going to pay for this!"

"What?!" Raki jumps. "I-I'm sorry, I really am, but... I-I just spent all my money on food, honest! I don't have anything on me!"

"Hmph," the woman begins to stand and brush herself off. She was middle-aged, yet had a certain beauty to her most women would envy. Her eyes hearkened to that of a wolf's when locked on to their next meal. "Well, you'll have to pay for it somehow. Come along, you're going to work this off!" She said in an annoyed tone.

Raki's eyes widen at her words. "B-but, I-"

"No buts! You're not going to go anywhere until you've learned your lesson!" The woman's voice was stern and full of rage. It was something Raki found quite frightening. Without much choice in the matter, Raki follows her back to her home, set upon a hill overlooking the town, muttering to himself along the way "I'll be back soon Clare, I swear."

Both Raki and the woman disappear into the home, the door slamming closed behind them, causing a shockwave that blew the dust right off of the sign on the side of the house, showing the engraving of the words "Udothi household."

As the wind howls eerily, two large boots plant themselves in front of the household. The boots lead upward to a man, his hair ashen-grey, wearing a brown cloak over his upper body. A hand moves a layer of fabric out of the way of the man's neck, revealing a medallion in the shape of a wolf's head with two glowing red eyes. It vibrates ever so gently but stops as the hand covers the wolf head.

Eyes of monstrous yellow seem to be common among monsters who fight other monsters, don't they?


End file.
